


Samarecarm

by combat_jorts



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Eventual relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Death, Panic Attacks, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, false reality, goro’s false reality, goro’s mom is alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28792926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/combat_jorts/pseuds/combat_jorts
Summary: Goro Akechi was sure of his decision to disappear for the sake of the true reality and his free will— that is, until one of his greatest wishes was granted as well.——For GoroBigBang2020!
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 30
Kudos: 200
Collections: Goro Big Bang 2020





	Samarecarm

**Author's Note:**

> hello all!! ;w; this fic was done for GoroBigBang2020 in collaboration with the lovely artist @tiklkun on Twitter! Their amazing art will be included in this fic as well as linked in the ending notes! <3

There was no looking back. Maruki had contacted Akira exactly as Goro had anticipated— the evening before their heist, to be exact— and the calling card had been distributed. Of course, there were a few minor setbacks in the otherwise perfect plan, such as Maruki noticing his presence and all but forcing him to reveal the truth of his continued existence to the only person he’d wished to protect from said truth, but… what’s done is done. The only path is forward. Goro kept telling himself that as he made his way back to his apartment in the evening chill, Akira’s pained expression burnt into his mind like a brand. He’d never forget that expression— it had been so unexpected, and it _hurt_ , surprisingly. Goro wished Akira had been indifferent to the news. It would have been easier to let go, to go about his final day as if everything would be alright in the end. But, of course, Akira would continue to surprise him to the bitter end. 

  
  


Speaking of.

  
  


_everyone is planning on meeting at leblanc at 9 am btw_

_is that okay?_

  
  


Goro pursed his lips, pulling his scarf up over his nose. It had begun to flurry, and the cold seeped into his lungs and stole his breath with every inhale. The text was innocuous enough, but from it, Goro could easily infer that Akira had talked to the rest of the team in the time Goro had spent on the train to Shibuya, and he’d told them about the calling card at the very least. Surely he told them more— they were such good friends after all. But just in case he hadn’t…

  
  


**Do they know?**

**About me?**

  
  
  


_i didnt tell them_

_im still kinda processing it myself haha_

  
  
  


Goro ignored the way that statement made his chest tighten up. He tried not to read into it, but when his mind was already racing a hundred kilometers a second, he couldn’t help it. Akira _had_ seemed rather shaken up at the cafe— he was more upset than Goro had ever seen him express outwardly, barring the fleeting moment they made eye contact in the second after Goro shot the engine room doors closed. So why did it bother him so much? Akira was supposed to move on, that’s why. But, stubbornly and against all logic, he wasn’t. So Goro swallowed down the sick feeling in his stomach and responded,

  
  


**Right.**

**I’d rather keep it that way.**

**I don’t want their pity.**

  
  


Akira was typing again as Goro ascended the stairs to his apartment, the ellipses pulsing at the bottom of his IM app in time with his steps. Why was Akira even still talking to him? Goro had made it abundantly clear that he was going to be _gone_ in less than 24 hours, give or take. Akira was so bullheadedly, naïvely sentimental, and Goro wanted to be furious with him, wanted to _strangle_ him sometimes, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to be anything but slightly irritated and perhaps very— 

No. He was _not_ sad. Nothing would change his mind. His feelings didn’t matter, as he wouldn’t be happy either way living under someone else’s control if he chose to stay in this world out of some childish need for camaraderie and validation. The best part is that he wouldn’t know whether or not he regretted his decision because he would be dead. 

Goro sighed as he fished his keys from his bag, fitting them in the lock just as his phone vibrated in his coat pocket with another message, most likely from Akira. No one else with his contact information had a reason to text him. Besides, he— _hm?_

The key twisted with no hindrance. His door was already unlocked.

Even though Goro would be dead tomorrow anyway, he _really_ didn’t want a burglar to take him out first. Now, _that_ would just be humiliating. If he needed to take someone out, it really wouldn’t matter since, again, he’d be dead, and this reality wasn’t even real. Their death likely wouldn’t be permanent if they even truly existed at all. But did burglars really exist in a world where everyone is satisfied? Goro didn’t care enough to linger on that thought. In one swift movement, he twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open, agilely bouncing back a meter on the balls of his feet. The lights were on, and Goro could hear his television— it was switched to some stupid game show he’d never cared to watch. Taking a careful step forward, he froze mid-stride as the smell of caramelized onions and seared beef hit him like a brick. Goro hadn’t ever used his stove, much less any of his other appliances. He didn’t know how to _cook_ . His toaster had a layer of dust decorating the surface, as did his stovetop. The only things he _did_ know how to use were the microwave and the dishwasher. 

_Well, this wasn’t right._ He furrowed his brow, backing up and staring at the apartment number nailed into the wall beside the door. He was hoping maybe he’d accidentally busted into someone else’s apartment and he was just finally going crazy, but no, that address was definitely his, and he apparently had a cooking, game-show-watching thief in his midst. _Okay. This is fine. The universe didn’t want me to leave without a show. God, I’m ready to die already._

Goro sighed, shook out his shoulders, readied himself to beat ass, and charged into his apartment— _or_ , he would have, if a strangely familiar voice hadn’t called his name first.

“Goro? Is that you?”

_What the fuck?_

Like an idiot, Goro stood in his own doorway and blinked owlishly as footsteps approached him from inside. His mind was racing, his heart beating even faster, and his stomach tied itself in knots for reasons he couldn’t fathom. _Why was that voice so familiar? Why did it make him want to throw up?_ His hands began to tremble for reasons he could not place, his throat tightening.

“Sweetheart, you’re letting in all the cold— Goro? Are you alright?”

He was going to puke. Maruki was a _bastard_.

His mother’s mahogany eyes were soft with concern as she entered his frame of view, her mousy brown hair (the same shade as his own) falling neatly over her shoulders. While he’d forgotten her face a long time ago, she was unmistakable now. She was younger then— oh, she was so young— and now unfamiliar laugh lines framed her smile, the corners of her warm eyes crinkling. 

He was going to throw up and cry, not necessarily once each, nor in that order. 

“Oh, did you miss my message? I tried to catch you before you left Akira’s. Don’t worry about it, love, I found some—“

Goro didn’t let her finish. He dimly recalled a horrible, strangled noise vaguely resembling the word “Mom” being ripped from his chest before he was throwing his arms around her like a child. 

“O-Oh!” she gasped in that voice he thought he’d never hear again. “Sweetheart, I know it’s been a long day, but did you miss me that much?” he heard the smile in her voice as she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a good squeeze. “ _Oogh_ , my little boy… I’ll never say no to a good hug. You’re never too old for hugs, right?” she sighed out with a soft laugh. Goro clutched onto her tighter, feeling her fingers weave through his hair. “You need a haircut,” she hummed. Her hair smelled like sweet shampoo, soft as it tickled Goro’s cheek— he was taller than her now, only by a few inches. 

Finally, he forced himself to pull away, his eyes scanning her face as his vision began to blur. What little memory he had left of her was slowly resurfacing, like rebooting an old computer and being relieved to find your files still intact. She stared back at him with concerned eyes— _his_ eyes, and _his_ hair, his nose… Her whole face was a reflection of his own, though her features were softer, rounded around the edges where Goro’s had grown more sharp as he grew older and lost his baby fat. Relief washed over him, not because his mother was “back”, but because now he knew he had inherited virtually _nothing_ from his horrid fucking excuse for a father besides a set of chromosomes. 

“Is my hair truly that long?” is what he asked, instead of the trillion other things that could have spewed from his mouth. He supposed it would work to his benefit if he simply kept his knowledge of this situation to himself until he could figure out what in the goddamn hell to do about this shit. _Fuck_. Anyway, he would keep his mother in the dark for the time being so as to raise no more alarms; she was already rather suspicious of his behavior as it was. 

His mother hummed, looking at him with a certain, foreign kind of fondness in her eyes that made his guts twist upon themselves inside him. She thumbed a lock of his hair between her thumb and forefinger, one that extended past the others as it lay over his shoulders, and she smiled. “Well, it _does_ suit you. You could even put it up. Here…” 

Goro blinked owlishly as she began to roll an elastic hair tie down from her wrist and over her hand, holding it between her teeth as she reached for Goro’s hair. “M-Mom?” he stammered, unsure of what else to say as his shitbag of a brain had apparently kicked the bucket. 

“Oh, hush your whining, Goro. I only want to see,” was all she offered in explanation. Her brow set in a familiar furrow as she gathered Goro’s hair in one hand, looped it through the elastic, twisted, and pulled away with a satisfied smile. Goro’s neck suddenly felt considerably cooler. His eyes landed upon his mother’s face, and she was clasping her hands together excitedly as she stared at his hair. “Turn around for me,” she asked as she already began to turn him around herself. He rotated dumbly, listening to her appraise her work. “A ponytail suits you, Goro. You know, I used to do this for you when you were little. I was too afraid to cut your hair myself— I would have given you a bowl cut— but it was my only option. So I just… put it up for you. And you loved it.” Her voice grew soft with fondness, and Goro turned to see her face mirroring that sentiment. Before he knew it, he could feel himself softening against his will. _Dammit, he shouldn’t get attached. All of this will be gone come tomorrow evening_. 

His mother seemed to perk up, her eyes going wide before she spun on her heel and hurried to the kitchen. “The onions!” she exclaimed, just as the smell of burnt food reached Goro. “Oh, I found onions, by the way! They were hiding in the pantry. I knew you’d be with your friends and might not see my message, so I started looking anyway.”

_Message?_

Goro pulled out his phone, eyes scanning blindly over the three notifications he’d received from Akira to open his message app. There, right beneath Akira’s name, was a new contact that he swore hadn’t been there just half an hour prior. 

  
  


**Mama**

_Can you pick up some onions on your way home?? I think we used them all when we tried that new sauté last week. LOL._

  
  
  


Why couldn’t Goro just die in peace? Not only did Maruki decide Goro’s life would be better if he wasn’t still face down in the ruins of his father’s palace, but he gave him a second chance with the only person he ever cared about, _and_ brought back the only real family he ever had. Goro didn’t ask for any of this. He didn’t _want_ this. He didn’t plan to make it past the ripe age of eighteen and a half. His decision was black and white until this. Until _her_.

His phone pinged again, reminding him of his still-unopened messages from Akira.

  
  
  


_so is 9 good? we kinda cant go on until it’s unanimous_

_thats kinda our thing haha_

_hey, is everything good?? i saw you typing and then you stopped_

  
  
  


It would be easy to tell Akira _yes, 9 is fine, see you then_ and leave it at that. Akira didn’t need to know his business; this was his own problem to solve. Except… Goro’s heart felt about ready to burst from his chest, and he’d surely have a breakdown if he handled this by himself, as loathe as he was to admit it. He’d have to swallow his pride (again, it wouldn’t matter and he wouldn’t regret it when he’s dead) and ask for help.

  
  
  


**Something happened.**

**Have you already gone to bed?**

_not yet_

_are you alright?? where are you?_

  
  
  


Akira’s concern made his guts twist into tighter, more nauseating knots.

  
  
  


**I’m home. At my apartment.**

_i can be there in 15_

_hold on, okay?? i’ll be there soon_

**You don’t have to. I can just tell you here.**

_im already on my way_

_you wouldnt text me if you didnt want me to be there_

  
  


The most infuriating part of that statement was the fact that he was absolutely correct. Goro didn’t dignify him with an answer. Instead, he pocketed his phone and turned his attention to that horrid game show on his mother’s television screen.

  
  


**———————**

_Last online: 2 minutes ago_

Akira tossed his phone onto his bed as he yanked on his shoes, throwing his scarf and his puffy coat on over his nightshirt and sweatpants. Akechi was acting... very strange. A sick part of him wondered if he was disappearing like Wakaba or Okumura did once the fake reality’s illusion was broken. His chest tightened thinking about it, wondering if he’d even get to say goodbye as he slung his bag over his shoulder and forgoed his glasses.

“Boss told me to tell you— hey!” Morgana mewed as he padded up the stairs, a furrow in his brow as he took in Akira’s appearance and frantic motion. “Where are you going? We take Maruki’s heart tomorrow! You should be in bed!”

Akira winced— usually, he heeded Morgana’s advice, but he just couldn’t afford to today. He’d regret it for the rest of his life. “Akechi texted me,” he replied carefully, watching Morgana soften a bit until his jaw set in concern. 

“What did he say? Is he okay? Will he be able to come with us tomorrow?”

Akira pursed his lips, averting his gaze. Honestly, he didn’t know. A little part of him wished that Akechi had changed his mind— that he wanted to stay in Maruki’s false reality. That he wouldn’t want to die again. That… That Akira might actually be able to save him this time. Okay, maybe it was more than just a _little_ part of him. 

“I don’t know,” Akira replied softly. “He just… He was acting strange over text, and now he’s not answering. But I already told him I’d be on my way. You can come if you want, but—“

“I’d better not,” Morgana sighed out, hopping up onto the countertop where Akira usually laid his bag to curl up and clean his ears with a dainty paw. “I mean, I’m apprehensive, you know? And I can’t say I fully trust him, but I don’t think he’ll hurt you. Besides,” he continued, pausing his ministrations to give Akira a look he couldn’t quite read, “this seems like a personal thing. I probably don’t belong there.” Akira took a deep breath, nodding and squaring his shoulders. Morgana gave him a little smile and nodded toward the door. “You should go. Text Futaba if you need me.”

“Thanks, Mona,” Akira replied quietly, making his way toward the stairs and giving Morgana a few scritches behind the ears. 

He’d made it to the bottom of the stairs when Morgana yowled down to him, “But are you seriously going in sweatpants?!”

Akira couldn’t help but begin to laugh. 

  
  


**———————**

It actually took Akira about twelve minutes to reach Akechi’s apartment, mostly because he ran like a maniac through the train station and all the way up the stairs. He could have sworn he had less trouble running in the Metaverse… He would school his breathing so he didn’t sound like he just ran a 5k instead of getting winded on a few flights of stairs, but he couldn’t really afford to waste much time if Akechi’s life was on the line. He’d just have to handle sounding like an absolute dweeb. As he approached Akechi’s door, he could have sworn he caught a whiff of burnt onions, but he shook it off as he rapped on the door three times in quick succession. _If he doesn’t answer within seven seconds, I’m trying the doorknob, but if it’s locked and he can’t get to me, I brought lockpicks and I’m going to pray to whoever’s listening that they-_

The door creaked open just a crack, and Akira’s head whipped up to see one crimson eye staring back at him. Relief washed over him like a cool ocean wave, and as he opened his mouth to tell Akechi just how scared he’d been—

“Akira? Oh, did Goro invite you over? Hold on, let me get him for you, sweetheart. _Goro! Akira is here!_ ”

The door swung open. Akira blinked. Then he blinked again. This woman’s resemblance to Goro- _Akechi_ was uncanny. Also… why was she on a first name basis with him? And how did she know Akira’s name? Is this what Akechi meant in his text? _God,_ he hoped he’d see the real Akechi come around that corner.

“Come on inside. Did you come for dinner? I _think_ I might have enough for three… would you like some tea? Water?” the woman offered as she led him inside, closing the door behind them. 

“U-Uh,” Akira replied eloquently, his eyes locked on a picture on the wall of a preteen Akechi sporting braces and a wide grin. “I’m… I’m okay. Thank you. I just… came to talk.” His eyes flitted to another picture, this time of Akechi probably not much older than eight years old, laughing in that woman’s arms with a birthday hat perched upon his head and red icing smeared on his cheek. 

The woman gave Akira a knowing look that he didn’t quite know what to do with. He could hear steps approaching to his left, drawing his attention just in time to see a rather frazzled looking Akechi making a beeline for him. Everything about him looked the same, much to Akira’s relief, except… he’d put his hair in a ponytail..? 

Akechi grabbed his wrist in lieu of greeting, beginning to tug him back down that hallway, presumably toward his room. “Thanks, mom,” Akechi called back to that woman, and— _what._

“Mom?!” Akira exclaimed, earning him the nastiest glare from Akechi he’d ever received yet. 

“Shut _up,”_ the other boy growled in warning, dragging him into a dark room before flipping on the light. The walls were lined with shelves brimming with books and knickknacks. Posters of idols and movies and _Featherman Rangers_ hung on the walls above a neatly-made and modest bed. On the nightstand below a lamp stood a sleek looking, futuristic model gun not unlike the ones Akechi used in the Metaverse. Its stand read _Proof of Justice_. The other boy closed the door behind them, let go of Akira’s wrist, and let his head fall into his hands.

“That was…” Akira began, unsure of where to start.

“Yes,” Akechi replied, his voice quiet and resigned with only a hint of anger. It sent a chill down Akira’s spine with its similarity to how Akechi sounded when...

“So Maruki granted your wish, too..?”

“Obviously,” Akechi ground out. 

Akira pursed his lips, awkwardly shuffling on his feet before setting his bag down, taking off his jacket, and settling in a beanbag in the corner of the room. Akechi leveled him with an odd look. “You’re in sweatpants,” he stated. Akira groaned.

“I was worried, okay? I’m not gonna pause to change pants. That’s precious time. Besides,” Akira grumbled, “these pants are comfy.”

A tiny smile quirked at Akechi’s lips before it was gone, just like that. “I suppose you’d like me to explain.”

Akira pursed his lips, folding his hands in his lap as he watched Akechi settle on his bed, pulling his knees to his chest. “You don’t have to. I mean, you showed up and she was there, right?” 

Akechi averted his gaze as he nodded.

“That’s how it happened with Wakaba. Everything’s normal until it isn’t. And then they have all these false memories, right?” 

Again, Akechi nodded, and Akira watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed thickly. He must have felt so _broken_.

“It’s like… they’d lived a whole life with you and you don’t remember any of it. You feel like the odd one out. It’s—“

“Alienating. Aggravating. Infuriating,” Akechi finished bitterly. Akira pursed his lips, nodding in agreement.

“Yes,” he said softly. A beat, and then, “is she how you remembered her?”

Akechi lifted his head, his gaze puzzled as if the question caught him off guard. “I… In some ways, yes.” He moved to sit with his legs crossed beneath him, his elbows on his knees and his hands fisted in his hair, though he carefully avoided tugging his ponytail down. “I had forgotten her face. Her voice. She… She got worse as time went on when I was younger. I believe she started out kind, like she is now. This is familiar to me in a way that comforts me, and I believe this _is_ how she used to be before the torment began. But I was simply too young to remember much. Became too jaded.”

Akira followed Goro’s gaze as it drifted to his window. The curtains framing it were sun-bleached and decorated with the emblem of a superhero Akira vaguely recognized. “What startled me the most was the fact that she was cooking,” Akechi continued with almost bitter amusement. “We often couldn’t afford to cook fresh meals. When we could, she didn’t have time, or she didn’t have the motivation. Eventually, she didn’t have the motivation to even operate the microwave.” Akechi’s expression was carefully, artificially neutral as he stretched his legs out and let them hand over the side of his bed once more. “I suppose you could say she neglected me as the end of her life approached. She didn’t mean to— her life was horrid with me in it, with Shido breathing down her neck. I don’t blame her, of course. I just wish things had been different.” Akira felt his stomach twist as Akechi’s gaze hardened once more. “But wishing on the past accomplishes absolutely nothing.”

Silence fell between them, thick and charged with emotion. Akira knew what would happen next: he would express sympathy, Akechi would snap at him about not wanting to be pitied, and they’d fall silent once more. Maybe they’d argue. Maybe Akechi would ask him to leave. 

“Are you happy?” Akira asked instead, watching Akechi furrow his brow down at the floor before that cherry-red gaze flicked up to meet his own.

“What kind of _bullshit_ —“

“I’m serious,” Akira interrupted firmly. “Are you happy?”

Akechi narrowed his eyes, straightening where he sat. He was beginning to bristle defensively. “I’m _not_ changing my mind.”

“That isn’t what I asked,” Akira replied softly, leaning back into the beanbag until he sunk in comfortably. Akechi unconsciously mirrored his relaxed stance, beginning to shed the tension in his shoulders. “I just want to know if this makes you happy, okay? No more, no less.”

Akechi resembled a caged animal in the way his eyes warily scanned Akira’s face, probably looking for any hint of hidden intentions. His eyes flashed with a few consecutive emotions that Akira couldn’t quite catch, but it seemed he was preparing to snap at Akira once more. However, he didn’t seem to find what he was looking for in Akira’s expression, nor did he find it particularly worth it to blow up, so he averted his gaze, hugged his arms around himself, and nodded. Then he shook his head. Finally, he shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said in a voice softer than Akira had heard even when he was acting. “I want to be happy. I think this _could_ make me happy.”

Akira softened. “But…?”

Akechi sighed, and in that moment, he looked smaller than Akira had ever seen him. No one would be able to guess how dangerous he truly was if they saw him curling in on himself in his childhood bed. As he paused to gather his words, Akira’s gaze wandered, landing on the old, glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to Akechi’s ceiling. 

“I’ll be dead tomorrow.”

The statement startled Akira from his reverie, his eyes going wide as they landed on Akechi once more. Once again, it felt like there was a vice gripping his heart, his stomach dropping with dread at the thought until he felt ill. However, his carefully-constructed walls (and many years of practice) made it so his features barely betrayed his true emotion. He couldn’t be vulnerable like that when Akechi needed him. It wouldn’t be fair. 

“So… you feel like you can’t enjoy this because it’s so fleeting?

Akechi held his gaze as he nodded, then seemed to chicken out. “And how do you feel? About all of this,” he queried, once again looking away.

Akira blinked. _Huh?_ “Me..? I mean, this isn’t about me, but—“

“Don’t dodge the question. You act unaffected now, but back at Leblanc, you were agonized. You only got here so fast because you probably ran. Do you feel as if you can’t be upset about any of this, or perhaps _excited_ , because you’re here to be my therapist?”

Akira swallowed, his throat tightening. It seemed his walls weren’t enough. Akechi always was the brightest person Akira had ever known. “I… No— No, I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t put it _that_ way. I’m here to help you, not… to dump my feelings on you.” Akira could feel Akechi’s eyes boring into him like a hot iron even as his own gaze danced away nervously. “You made your choice clear, and nothing I feel will change that. What I feel is that I want you to be happy with your decision,” he said firmly. 

“Are you angry with me? That I may not change my decision even with my mother’s existence?”

Akira could feel his chest tightening, his breath hitching. This is _not_ what he wanted. If he revisited those feelings he’d neatly packed away after Akechi left Leblanc… Surely he’d say something stupid. And the last thing he wanted in Akechi’s final hours was to sour whatever they had between them. He wouldn’t jeopardize that over some… trivial feelings. Akechi made up his mind. He was leaving. Akira was… distraught over it, but he understood. 

Apparently, silence was the wrong answer. Akechi curled his lip in disgust, crossing one leg over the other and steepling his fingers. “You’re watching me doubt my decision to go and you _aren’t_ even the _least_ bit irritated? Nothing? _Bull fucking shit.”_ Akira’s eyes widened as Akechi stood, stalking across the room and pointing an accusatory finger as he loomed over Akira. “I’m tired of you pretending like you don’t feel a thing. It’s not _noble_ . It’s not _strong_. It’s foolish and infuriating and—“

“You’re doubting your decision?”

Akechi blinked, faltering as he was caught off guard. “What?” His eyes darted away nervously for just a moment. Bingo.

“Would you like me to be mad?”

Akechi stared at him as if he just grew another head before his very eyes. “I’m not asking you to manufacture an emotion. That’s somehow worse than what you’re doing now.” The other boy was how wary, his stance guarded and a little awkward. In that moment, he was nothing more than a scared little boy.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Akira said softly, sitting up straight and resting his elbows on his knees. “Why do you want me to be mad at you? I mean, truthfully, I’m not mad at all. I couldn’t be. But… if you want me to be honest, I’m sad, and I probably will be for a long time. But me sobbing all over the floor of your bedroom isn’t going to change anything, and I doubt it would change your mind.” Judging from how uncomfortable Akira’s display of grief at Leblanc had made Akechi, it was safe to say that _wasn’t_ the right course of action. “This is just me speculating,” he began, “but I think you want a reason to let go. You want me to get mad at you, say something I regret in the heat of the moment so you can finally feel justified to leave, because your mom has thrown a wrench in your perfect plans and now you have the opportunity to _really_ have the life you always wanted.” Akira cocked a brow, watching Akechi’s breathing pick up, shallow and fast. “Am I wrong?”

“I didn’t ask you to psychoanalyze me,” Akechi hissed, looking more like a frightened wild animal with every passing second. “I asked you to tell me how you feel.”

“You’re avoiding the question. None of this is about me, and honestly? I think you owe it to yourself to feel a little uncomfortable while you’re making this decision. That’s why you deflected to me, right? You were uncomfortable? This is about your _life,_ Akechi.”

“What do you want from me?” The other boy asked lowly, his eyes wide and frightened.

“I want you to be happy.”

“Stop,” Akechi nearly pleaded.

“Boys!” came his mother’s call from the kitchen. “Dinner is ready! Akira, there’s enough for you if you’d like some!”

Akira’s gaze flicked back to Akechi, who was staring at his bedroom door with something very close to dread twisting his expression. “I can’t see her again,” he gritted out, fingers snaking into chestnut locks and tugging harshly. “I can’t. I don’t— I don’t know what to do, Akira.”

Akira had only heard Akechi sound so distressed back in the engine room. It made something sick settle heavy in the pit of his gut, his chest tightening. “Here,” he said, standing up and reaching out to loosen Akechi’s fingers from his hair and take that hand in his own. The other boy’s eyes went wide as saucers, his lips parting in shock. Akira only smiled back. “Can I meet her?”

“Wh… What..?”

“Your mom. Can I meet her?”

Akechi watched him with all the wariness of a frightened animal, searching his expression with furrowed brows and parted lips before his gaze darted briefly to their joined hands. His hand lay pitifully limp in Akira grip. “I… I guess. Why? She’s not real. I don’t know if this is really… what she was like.”

Akira shook his head, smiling softly and giving Akechi’s hand a squeeze. “That’s alright. This is how you remember her somewhere in your mind, right? I want to see her as you saw her when she was alive, even for just a little while.” Truly, Akira was curious. Akechi talked about her fondly, unlike most anyone else he knew besides perhaps Sumire and Akira himself. He wanted to know the person who Akechi loved more dearly than anyone else in the world— the one who he’d bring the most dangerous man in Japan to his knees for. Besides, she seemed sweet in the way Akechi might have been had the world been kinder to him.

Something in Akechi’s eyes changed then, his throat bobbing as his shoulders relaxed and something soft but unreadable crossed his expression. “Alright,” he acquiesced. 

“Come meet her with me.”

Akechi’s gaze danced away. Akira, still holding his hand, brushed a thumb over his knuckles. “Alright,” he repeated, standing and astutely looking away as Akira heaved himself from the comfortable clutches of the beanbag. They left Akechi’s room like that, hand in hand as they made their way to the kitchen. Akechi’s grip gradually tightened to white-knuckled force the closer they drew to the kitchen. They passed framed art projects Akechi had done in school and portraits of him as a child (including a rather hilarious one of him in Santa’s lap with his two front teeth missing and his gums bared in a terrified grimace) all hung on the wall with care. That something so simple would be Akechi’s dream made Akira’s ribcage feel like it was constricting his heart.

Akechi— _Goro’s_ mother was bustling around the kitchen, her hair now tied in a long ponytail that swayed as she precariously balanced plates on her arm like an aspiring waitress. Akira felt Goro’s nails digging into the back of his hand. “Akechi-san,” Akira blurted, feeling Goro jump beside him. “Let me help you with that.”

“Akechi-san?” Goro’s mother craned her neck to face Akira, her brows encroaching upon her hairline as she chuckled incredulously. “Oh, Akira, how long have you known me? You _know_ there are no formalities in this house, especially not with you. Just call me Fumiyo,” Goro’s mother smiled, her nose scrunching and her eyes crinkling at the corners. How long _had_ Akira known her in this false reality? It was a little disturbing to know this woman he barely knew had so many memories of him that he was simply unaware of. She turned her attention to Goro, raising a brow as her expression turned wry. 

“This doesn’t apply to _you_ , young man. I’ll never forget the day you called me Fumiyo just to be a little smart-aleck. Oh, you had to be… four years old! Brazen! Things haven’t changed, though you’ve gone from smart-aleck to just _smart._ I don’t know where you got that from, but it certainly wasn’t me.” As she carefully rotated with her plates, Akira noticed her gaze lingering at their joined hands. It seemed Goro noticed as well, as he proceeded to wrench his hand from Akira’s as if it burnt. Akira’s stomach plummeted— right. It was silly of him to let his feelings override logic. Of course it wouldn’t be appropriate to hold hands in front of his _mom_ , especially since they weren’t _together_ and—… Fumiyo softened. Akira’s eyes widened. 

“Oh, you don’t need to hide from me. I’ve seen you two kiss when you thought I wasn’t looking— and you both know what I do for a living. Mama’s intuition. Nothing gets past me.” She set the plates down carefully on the kotatsu, kneeling and tapping her forehead knowingly with her free hand. Akira whipped his head around to face Goro, his own bewildered expression mirrored almost comically in Goro’s features. 

_Kiss?_ Goro mouthed incredulously, and Akira could practically hear the harsh hiss in his voice. He could feel his face heating, his cheeks growing pink. They were probably _leagues_ past pink at this point. So, instead of words (his throat refused to cooperate), he just shrugged, eyes comically wide. He’d be lying if he said he _hadn’t_ fantasized about kissing Goro Akechi. Or holding his hand. Or being in a more-than-friendship-or-rivalry with him. Did he have romantic feelings for his friend and would-be-killer? Yes. Yes, he did. But did it really matter when said friend would be dead in 24 hours? He really tried not to think about it. This didn’t matter. It was fine. Except… this was Goro’s dream; his one wish. Why was kissing Akira any part of that? Unless Maruki had pulled any last strings…

“Are— Are we…? I mean, would you say, in your own experience, that Akira and I are…” Goro began to fumble over his words, his voice high-pitched and shaky. Akira couldn’t quite parse out the emotion in that tone, but he could at least tell it wasn’t disgust or fear. It sounded akin to… shock, maybe, and judging from the flush blooming on Goro’s cheeks, he was definitely flustered, too. _Huh_. 

“That you are…?”

“I think what Goro means to say is… would you say we’re… together? In a relationship?”

Goro’s mother fixed them with a strange look at that, her brows furrowing and her smile growing puzzled. “Well… That isn’t for me to say, but I was under the impression that you were,” she replied carefully, visibly confused. Akira’s eyes cut to Goro, who was white as a sheet. “Of course, you don’t _have_ to define it if that isn’t your thing. So many young people are involved in some way or another and never put a label on their relationship for years, even. Ah, listen to me— I’m talking as if I’m not one of the young ones anymore! I suppose I’m not, am I..? Hm… Time flies.”

“I don’t feel well,” Goro announced, eyes distant as he turned on his heel and made a beeline for the hall once more, wrenching open the door to the bathroom and slamming it shut behind him. Akira and Fumiyo were left blinking in the middle of the kitchen, silently staring after the other boy. Akira made a vague motion in Goro’s general direction as Fumiyo clasped her hands in front of herself, frowning.

“I should...”

“Please,” Fumiyo agreed, worrying at her lip in concern, “check on him for me, alright? He’s been acting strange all night… If he’ll tell anyone anything, it’ll be you.” She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, squeezing softly. 

Though Akira already had a pretty good inkling of what was upsetting Goro so deeply, he couldn’t exactly reveal it to his mother. Besides, Akira wanted to check on him anyway— the thought of Goro being uncomfortable with the notion of being _together_ made his stomach twist and his heart plummet. It wasn’t _that_ bad of an outcome, was it? If Akira had to choose a dystopian reality where everything had gone to shit but he was dating one of his friends, he’d choose Goro. Of course, that was a given since Akira had been crushing on him since June. Akira hoped he hadn’t influenced Goro’s reality somehow… Had Akira’s own desires somehow bled into Goro’s and tainted them? Was that even possible? Did Maruki mistake Goro’s actions for romantic attraction? Did Goro feel _trapped?_ The last thing Akira wanted was for Goro to feel cornered, especially not by him. Akira was willing to do _anything_ for Goro’s comfort, even if that meant they stay “rivals” for the rest of their natural lives— which wasn't long for at least one half of the party. 

“Goro?” Akira rapped his knuckles on the door thrice, straining his ears to listen for any response. All he could detect was ragged breathing, the dripping of the sink, and the faint shuffling of a person trying very hard to stay still and quiet. “We can just talk through the door, okay? You don’t even have to come out.” A pause, and then, “Do you want to talk? I can leave you alone. I’m just… I know you’re gonna be mad at me for this, but… I’m worried about you.” Akira pursed his lips, sliding down to the floor and resting his back against the bathroom door. “I won’t beat around the bush— you don’t have much time left. I don’t want whatever time you have left to be miserable. I can back off if you want. We can… we can tell your mom that we aren’t together. We can hide in your room. I-I could leave. I want you to be comforta- _whoa!!”_

Akira tumbled backwards as the door wrenched open behind him, leaving him flat on his back and staring up at the upside-down face of one very upset but irate Goro Akechi. “You talk too much,” he grunted. “Get in here.”

Akira scrambled to his knees, crawling into the bathroom and hauling himself up to his feet as Goro pulled the door closed. “Are you okay?” Akira asked quickly as he righted himself, finally getting a good look at Goro. Suffice to say, he didn’t look great— his eyes were red, his face pale and gaunt, his throat bobbing and his chest heaving. “Are you…?”

“Having a panic attack? Astute observation, Kurusu,” Goro gritted out between clenched teeth, gripping the sink with force. “Give me a moment.”

“Okay. Do you want me to-“

“ _Stay._ ”

“Got it. Um… one thing that helps me is to—“

“ _Stop talking.”_

“O-Okay.”

Akira bit his lip, staring down at the counter as he listened to Goro’s ragged breathing. Every breath shattered Akira’s heart into tinier pieces, and he listened in unmoving silence until it was all he could do not to pull Goro in for a big hug and tell him he’s sorry. Finally, Akira broke a little, inching his hand closer to Goro’s braced on the counter. “Can I…?” he whispered.

Goro eyed the hand, then his gaze flicked to Akira’s face, sharp and dangerous. It almost seemed like he was going to snap until that gaze softened and averted, his shoulders lifting ever so slightly in a shrug. Akira tentatively placed a hand over Goro’s, stroking his knuckles with a gentle thumb. Much to his surprise, Goro flipped his own hand over, squeezing Akira’s hand in his own with intimidating force. Akira didn’t make a peep, instead letting Goro do whatever he wanted as his breathing finally seemed to calm down. Akira would let Goro completely break his hand if it meant he was calm and happy again. 

“We have to tell her,” Goro said quietly after an eternity of silence. His body still had the slightest tremor to it. “I can’t do this anymore. I… I want it all to fucking disappear. I can’t…”

“Okay,” Akira agreed softly, giving Goro’s hand a squeeze, “we can do it together, okay? You and me. It’ll be okay. And… And if this particular reality breaks apart after she learns the truth, we’ll still be here. It’s gonna be okay, Goro.”

Goro made a noise in his throat akin to a wounded animal. “I-I don’t need you to _coddle_ me, Akira,” he hissed. “Do… Do you think it will..? Fade away, I mean.”

“That’s how it happened with the rest of the Thieves,” Akira replied. “Faster than the blink of an eye. Well… That was when they realized it themselves— this reality seems to function differently, since we’re both very aware it’s not real.”

“So… She won’t know. She’ll be gone in an instant. No… No slow fading, no goodbyes.” Goro’s eyes were trained on their joined hands as he slowly began to nod. “Alright. Good.”

Akira flashed him a small smile, watching as Goro lifted his head, took one look at Akira’s face, and averted his gaze. “Hey,” Akira began, “about… about _us_ in this realit-“

“ _Drop it._ ” Goro warned.

“I just want to know-“

“ _Drop. It.”_ Goro’s expression turned dangerous once more, eyes cold and calculating.

“Is it me?”

Goro blinked, brows furrowed. “Is _what_ you?”

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Akira began in a rush. “Is this— is this because you feel pressured by me or something? Because I… because of _my_ feelings?”

Goro continued to stare at him as if he’d grown another head. “Your feelings? Akira, what-“

“Because I’ve had a crush on you since… God, since June?” Akira blurted quickly. “I-I don’t want to pressure you, or make you feel like you have to return any feelings, but… _God_ , I’m worried. You’d been acting so.. _afraid_ whenever your mom told us about… _us._ We don’t have to be together. We don’t even have to pretend. I don’t-“

“You’ve had a crush on me since June.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“Um. Yes,” Akira replied awkwardly. “Though… I guess it’s more than a crush at this point… N-Not that I’m thinking about the L-word or anything! It’s just-“

“Please,” Goro began, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand ( _oh, god, they were still holding hands._ ) “Stop talking.”

“Okay,” Akira squeaked, eyes wide.

“I don’t…” Goro seemed to be having trouble finding the words to express what he meant to Akira. As he braced for inevitable rejection, Goro sighed and continued. “I thought my feelings were obvious. I didn’t particularly _want_ to develop feelings for you at all, but… here we are.”

“That’s oka- _h… huh?”_

“I’m not saying it again,” Goro said evenly. “We have more pressing matters at hand. We have to go before mom worries even more— dinner’s getting cold, and time is running out.”

With that, Goro all but dragged Akira from the bathroom and back down the hall, hands still tightly clasped together. Fumiyo had already plated their dinner and arranged it around the table, her gaze lifting and softening with relief. “Oh, I was beginning to think I’d have to reheat dinner,” she said with a laugh. “Come sit, boys.”

“Actually,” Goro began, his grip tightening on Akira’s hand. Akira squeezed back, his stomach twisting with nerves. “We have something to tell you.”

Fumiyo eyed them carefully, taking a seat at the head of the table. “Is it something I want to hear? Your personal business is _your_ business, Goro. You don’t have to tell me everything, you know.”

Goro’s face bloomed into color, his brows furrowing. “N-No, it isn’t anything like that. But… I can’t guarantee you’ll _like_ it.”

“If you’re going to tell me you’re engaged, of course I’ll support you, but don’t you think it’s a little early for-“

“Mom!” Goro exclaimed, exasperated and embarrassed. Akira couldn’t help but snort out a laugh as he bit his lip to swallow it down. “No! We aren’t engaged. We aren’t even…” The older boy chewed at his lip, slowly settling into a seat. “None of this is…”

Akira took a seat beside Goro, reaching under the table to squeeze the other boy’s hand in a fashion he hoped was comforting. _Go on_ , he silently urged, _I’m here_. Fumiyo stared on evenly, her brows furrowed in a way Akira knew she was trying very hard not to let her concern show in her expression.

“None of this is real,” Goro blurted, startling them both. “The only thing real in this room? Akira. _None_ of this is real. Not _you,_ not _me,_ not your memories, not the pictures on the wall, not this _food._ It… This is all… so hard to explain.” Goro’s chest was already heaving, and Akira could feel his pulse through his hand, quick as a rabbit’s. “You have to believe me. Akira can attest to all of this— there’s this— this man, this _scientist_ , and he… he’s meddling with the very fabric of reality itself, and I know I sound stark _fucking_ mad, but I… I’m dead, mom. I died in December. _You_ died when I was a child. 

“This… man believed both mine and Akira’s lives would be better if I were alive, and if _you_ were alive. He warped reality to make our wildest dreams come true without our consent, and I… _we,”_ he continued, motioning vaguely between himself and Akira, “are supposed to confront him tomorrow morning. I had no hesitation in my heart until… you.” 

Fumiyo was thoughtfully silent, though she didn’t look too skeptical. Before she could open her mouth, Akira began, “I know this _definitely_ sounds hard to believe, but… it’s true. We can show you what limited proof we have, but… it’s all true,” he explained softly. “Goro’s death tore me apart just as much as your death broke his heart. Both of you died at the hands of Masayoshi Shido, more or less.” At the mention of that name, Fumiyo’s eyes grew wide.

“You… I… I’ve never uttered a word of that man to anyone, not even Goro,” Fumiyo breathed, reeling with shock. “I… Assuming you _are_ telling the truth somehow, what… what will happen now? What are you going to do?”

“This reality is a lie. The entire world, sans Akira and his associates, are stuck believing it. If we allow this raging lunatic of a man to continue, we’ll all forget. We’ll blend seamlessly into this reality and forget its true nature. We’ll be _puppets_ of that man,” Goro spat. “We can kiss our freedom goodbye forever. I can’t allow that. And as astute as I believed my values to be, I… I still hesitate.”

“Why? Your conviction is strong, Goro. What’s wrong?” his mother asked softly.

“You. I’ve missed you dearly,” Goro replied softly, his voice breaking. Akira could see his hands trembling. “My entire life I regretted losing you. I suffered without you. And now… now I have the life I’ve always dreamed of. But my choices are either to finally win my autonomy back and return to death, or remain a slave at the behest of a stranger to live out my dream. I’ve never once had true freedom and I _crave_ it more than life itself, but I… I find myself faltering if only to live in this reality a little longer. I feel… weak.”

“You _aren’t_ weak, Goro. No son of mine is weak,” Fumiyo said firmly. “I believe you. Though I have memories spanning as long as I can remember, I… I do know you and Akira have been acting rather strange. And I’ve noticed… a flickering, I suppose,” she continued, her gaze darting away as she wrung her hands, “out of the corner of my eye, especially recently. Like... water rising from hot pavement. Really, I thought I was finally losing my mind,” she continued with a soft, mirthless laugh. “I’d be cooking in the kitchen and I’d see… barren walls. Beer cans on the counter. I’d blink and it would be gone, and then I’d take my medication just in case.” She pursed her lips, her gaze still averted, and Akira could feel Goro let out a breath he’d seemingly been holding.

“That was the fabric of this reality faltering. What you saw in those brief moments was the _true_ reality. This was my apartment,” Goro explained softly.

“With the beer cans?” Fumiyo replied incredulously. Goro winced, looking away.

“Er. Yes. I… had a bit of an issue.”

“More than one issue, I’d say,” Akira hummed, biting back a grin as Goro whipped around to face him with his jaw set and his eyes flashing. 

“Anyway,” Goro gritted out, facing his mother once more, “I suppose, to make it brief, I’m unsure of the decision I should make. It’s no longer black and white.”

Their food was quickly growing cold, but it appeared no one at the table had an appetite anymore. “I trust you to make the right decision for _you_ , Goro. Don’t think about anyone else. Don’t think about me, or Akira— you _know_ we both love you, and nothing could change that.” Fumiyo leaned forward in her seat, reaching her hand across the table palm up for Goro to take. Akira squeezed his other hand beneath the table before Goro grasped his mother’s, his eyes locked on their joined hands as she gently stroked his knuckles with her thumb. “You’ll always be my little boy. _Always_. However, can I… ask a few more questions? I’m still a little lost,” she admitted sheepishly.

After the quickest explanation of the Metaverse, Dr. Maruki, and the events of the past few years, Fumiyo sat in thoughtful silence once more. Against all odds, it seemed she really did believe their unbelievable story. “Alright,” she breathed, “okay. It’s… hard to accept that all of this has been happening right under our noses, but… alright. Still, I can’t help but worry about your well-being. Everything you’ve been through has come and gone, but… I suppose I wish I had been there. Really, it’s silly… but it just seems as if it were my responsibility to keep you safe,” she sighed, then squared her shoulders strongly as her gaze grew steely, “which is why I want you to make the decision that would make you happiest. Either way, I respect it. Don’t worry about me— we’ll be alright whatever you choose.” Her smile was warm, her eyes softening. “Take all the time you need to decide.”

“Actually,” Goro began softly, “I have. Akira, could you-“

Before Goro could finish his request, Akira was standing, pushing his chair in and bowing. “It was lovely to finally meet you, Akechi-san,” he began, heart racing. “I’ll be waiting outside until Goro makes his decision. I’m sure you’d like some time to yourselves either way.”

“Of course,” Fumiyo replied softly, “Thank you, Akira. It’s been lovely having you over this evening.”

Goro seemed visibly nervous once Akira’s gaze landed on him. He offered the other boy a smile, whispering ‘ _I’ll be waiting outside’_ , to which Goro replied in a matching whisper, ‘ _I know, you already said that’._ Flashing a nervous grin of his own, Akira waved and headed out, waiting until the front door had closed before huffing out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. This was it. This would decide whether they’d face Maruki or remain in the false reality forever. Akira was buzzing with nervous energy, and he guiltily admitted to himself that he wanted Goro to choose to stay. He wanted Goro to allow himself to have a nice life, but he knew autonomy was something Goro held most dear. Akira watched the minutes tick by, nervously sending a game of cup pong over text to Ann while he waited. While nearly an hour passed by, Akira felt as if it had been three before Goro finally emerged from the apartment, pocketing something as he closed the door. They stood in silence for a few moments, never even meeting each other’s gaze until Goro said, softly, “Look.”

Akira glanced up, watched as Goro motioned to the apartment door. It felt as if Akira’s heart stopped in the time it took to grasp the doorknob and turn it, opening the door to reveal a barren apartment, more than a few empty beer cans strewn about a few different surfaces. 

“We’re facing Maruki tomorrow,” he heard Goro say firmly, quietly. 

“Are you okay?” Akira said instead of any of the other thoughts buzzing around in his head.

“Not really,” said Goro evenly. “But I would have been even worse off the other way around. Come,” he continued, reaching for the doorknob and laying his hand over Akira’s as he gently closed the door and locked it. “I’ll accompany you home.”

“Stay,” Akira blurted, faltering as he attempted to amend his words, “Stay tonight at Leblanc. Your apartment is—“

“Empty? Cold? I know,” Goro replied with a mirthless smirk. “I don’t particularly plan on sleeping tonight.”

“Even better,” Akira breathed, “Play video games all night. Drink coffee. Eat curry. Whatever you want.” 

“You make a convincing case. Alright,” Goro conceded, “let’s go home.”

As they turned away from Goro’s apartment door, Akira reached for the other boy’s hand. To his surprise, Goro took it willingly, never letting go until they reached Yongen Jaya.

—————

Goro was gone by the time they emerged from the Metaverse. Akira pieced that together by the time he was finally released from police custody and the greeting party that met him at Leblanc didn’t contain Goro. When he asked, the room went uncomfortably silent.

But Akira was okay.

Time seemed to slow down, turning into a countdown until he returned home to Inaba. He didn’t particularly visit his friends much unless they prompted him first, and he could feel himself drawing into his shell, but he couldn’t exactly stop it. 

“Maybe… you should consider therapy, Akira,” Sojiro told him awkwardly one evening as he brought a bowl of curry to Akira’s room after he’d skipped dinner. “I went to therapy before I opened this place up, you know. It really helped. And then I quit going, but… Nevermind, I just… think you should consider it when you go home.” Akira appreciated the sentiment, but a lot of things fell on deaf ears as of late. No amount of therapy would bring Goro back. Akira wasn’t even sure it would erase the guilt he felt for missing him even though he knew Goro had made the choice he knew was best for himself.

Soon, the time came to return home, and his friends loaded up into a van to drive him to the train station. Akira’s performative smile finally fell as he plugged in and tuned out to settle into his seat on the train, closing his eyes and getting lost in thought until his stop was announced on the loudspeaker hours later. 

His parents barely spoke to him, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. They greeted him with an acknowledgement of his existence as he lugged his suitcase up the stairs.

Akira was fine. Really.

“You really miss him,” Morgana murmured one afternoon as the sun set and Akira had never once left his bed that entire day. As he stared at his ceiling, at the single star from Yusuke he’d managed to stick up there before he lost motivation, he covered his face with his hands and nodded. Soon, he felt the distinct weight of a small cat curling up on his stomach and the rumble of soft purring. “It’ll be okay,” Morgana said softly. “I think he’d want you to be happy.”

“He’s dead,” Akira mumbled flatly, “It doesn’t matter what he wants.”

It felt both satisfying and horrible to snap like that, but Akira had the emotional regulation of a bar of soap recently, so he really couldn’t be bothered to fix it.

One day, about a month after he’d arrived home, he was laying in bed on a Sunday like any other. He didn’t even know what time it was, but he hadn’t left bed or eaten more than chips from a bag beside his bed. His parents were who-knows-where, and Morgana had left on a walk a few hours before on Akira’s urging. There was a knock at the front door just as the sun was setting, but Akira ignored it. A few moments later, the knock came again. Akira ignored it. The knocking became urgent. Akira covered his head with a pillow. As the knocking became both urgent and _constant_ , Akira groaned and threw his pillow aside, marching downstairs with stiff joints and rumpled clothes. The dim light of the setting sun was enough to make him wince after sitting in a mostly darkened room all day, and he shielded his eyes as he said, “Can I help you?”

“I forgot to give this to you.”

Akira’s eyes flew open.

Goro Akechi stood in front of him, a small smile gracing his lips as he extended something toward Akira. He looked just the same as the last time Akira had seen him, just as prim and perfect and put together as he could be.

“I… Wh… What…?” Akira blinked, then scrubbed his eyes, squeezed them shut, and opened them again. Inexplicably, Goro Akechi was still there.

“Are you going to take it or not?” Goro waved the rectangular object in his hand, but Akira paid it no mind. A strangled noise ripped itself from his chest as he lunged toward and dragged Goro into a tight hug, burying his face in the other boy’s neck. 

“Goro,” Akira choked out, “Goro… Goro… I-I’m sorry… How… How did you find me? How are you even _alive_? H-How…?”

“When was the last time you took a shower,” Goro asked, drawing a laugh from the boy who hadn’t laughed in months. 

“Y-You don’t wanna know.”

They embraced on Akira’s front doorstep for what had to be five minutes, holding each other tight and making up for lost time. Finally, Goro pried himself from the hug and pressed that object from earlier into Akira’s hands. “Here. I never got the chance to give this to you before I left.”

“What..?” As Akira unfolded his hands, the object revealed itself to be a Polaroid— a picture of an impossible moment. _Birthday with Akira & Mom! _ _06.02.2011,_ was written in the white space on the bottom in neat print. A younger Goro stared back at him, grinning with a mouth full of braces as he hugged his mother. A younger version of himself stood on the other side of Fumiyo, a matching grin on his own face. They seemed to be at Destinyland, judging from the Ferris wheel and balloons in the background. Akira had never experienced this memory himself, but it still brought tears to his eyes. “For me..?”

“Proof that my dream came true. Proof that we met earlier,” Goro explained quietly. “My mother gave it to me before that reality disappeared. It’s yours, if you want it. If not, I can just—“

“It’s perfect,” Akira breathed, all but lunging forward, holding Goro, and capturing his lips in a kiss. It was a reckless, impulsive decision, and Goro stiffened against him at first before melting completely, arms settling around Akira’s shoulders as he returned the soft kiss.

“I take it that you like it,” Goro whispered, smirking as they separated for air and pressed their foreheads together.

“I like _you_ more.” There were tears in Akira’s eyes, running down his cheeks and cooling in the breeze. “Thank you for coming home…”

“I’d never pass up my perfect reality.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! This bad boy has been in the making for a hot minute and I’m so glad to see it finally posted ;w;  
> Check out my friend tiklkun on Twitter!! Their art is adorable and it was so great to work with them on this project!! https://twitter.com/tiklkun
> 
> And here’s their art in collaboration with this fic! https://twitter.com/tiklkun/status/1350484524820549633?s=21


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